A Series of Themed Drabbles
by Zonoma
Summary: Drabbles are tiny ficlets that consist of precisely 100 words. No more, no less. It is a fun way to play with plots and/or character introspection without commitment. Features many canon and EU characters. Comments welcome.
1. Week One: Mara Jade

**Beginnings**

Everyone forgot to tell her fires roared like dragons. She wished the man holding her would put her down. She wanted her mama. Daddy had passed her to him, though, so she trusted this man because Daddy did.

The night was cold and she stared into the chaos, searching for some sign of her family. She shivered.

A gnarled hand gripped her shoulder, "They aren't coming, little one. They saved you by passing you out to us, Mara."

She knew the man was right, she could feel it.

"What will happen to me now?"

"You will come live with me."

**Middles**

Mara allowed the Senator's eyes to travel her body lecherously and repressed the flash of revulsion. She had a job to do, and allowing him this brief moment of triumph was part of it. She took a small breath before speaking, allowing her breasts to strain the confines of her gown.

"The Emperor wishes you to know that your game was well played. I am sent to you with his compliments."

Her hands opened, beckoning, and he came to her willingly. She let down her hair, smiling enticingly as she stuck the lacquered pin from her hair into his jugular.

**Ends**

Screaming, she fell to the ground holding her head in traitorous, trembling hands. People gave her a wide berth, but no one stood forward to offer help. Instincts of Mos Eisley natives were sound, offering to help her right now was tantamount to suicide.

_Kill Luke Skywalker!_

Rage. Awful uncontrolled rage. Pain. Heat. Then the awful, icy rage again.

_Kill Luke Skywalker! Kill Luke Skywalker!_

She knew, stumbling blindly back to her transport, that her service to the Emperor was ended the way it began so long ago. In heat and pain and loss. In flames that roared like dragons.

**First**

Doubting was something Mara was becoming more accustomed to, since the Emperor's death so many years ago. Admitting them out loud was something new.

Extending her hand out to the man before her, she introduced herself to Corran Horn. It was hard, allowing someone to know she was vulnerable. Is this what friendship was?

She couldn't quite explain it, but expressing her doubts about Luke's teaching methods to Corran was safe. He wouldn't turn on Luke. He was Luke's friend and as concerned as she was. He also needed someone, apparently, to express his doubts to.

Perhaps this _was_ friendship.

**Last**

She sat in the dark, arms trembling from fatigue, systematically educating Skywalker on the error of his ways. She should be able to do this in her sleep. 

Except it hurt.

The look in his eyes, as he clung to his perch beside her, was like a kick in the gut.

As she forced herself to continue, she felt the last of her doubts slide away. These weren't the arrogant acts of another egocentric maniac, but rather the idealistic and innocent mistakes of a simple farmboy that, for all his laurels, was still naive about the way the universe worked.


	2. Week 2: Princess Leia

**Hours**

Luke sat watching her for hours, hair glowing in the firelight. Her smile was serene and she was happy for the first time, he thought, in a long time.

His friend, his love, his… sister.

He shook his head ruefully, wondering how he had ever missed the truth of that.

He stood. While he hated to upset her peace, the hour was fast approaching when he would leave. She must know that he was not their last hope. There was another.

He was aware that it would ruin her night, at the very least.

"Luke, what is it? What's wrong?"

**Days**

_You will tell me where your Rebel friends are hiding, Senator._

Gasping, Leia awoke once more to her living nightmare. These dreams were Vader's doing, she knew that on some level. In each and every one she betrayed her friends, her family, her father. She told Vader what he wanted to know and then she felt peace, knowing she had done the right thing.

_Days_. She had been in this cell for _days_, and the dreams had not stopped. She clung to this as proof that she was still staying strong. She was not dooming thousands to death and disgrace.

**Weeks**

The battle of Yavin was over. She stayed strong when she needed to be strong and ignored her pain until she could ignore it no longer. That was weeks ago.

She wanted to tell her father about the victory over the monster in the Death Star. She wanted to go home to her friends, but she had no home to retreat to. No home to walk through and grieve the man who raised her.

He died weeks ago, and she was only now allowed to mourn him. It made her guilty beyond words. He deserved more than her leftover time.

**Months**

Oftentimes, in the midst of the post-Empire economy and government building, she found herself confronted by yet another of the Empire's atrocities, carefully hidden under mountains of bureaucratic tripe. Most of the time it was Vader's name attached to the worst of the crimes.

It was months after the destruction of the second Death Star and Luke's revelation about Vader, and still she could not bring herself to acknowledge him as a relation, even to herself. Every time she tried, she remembered Alderaan and his ministrations in her cell.

It angered her beyond words that Luke could forgive that_ creature_.

**Years**

"Breathe."

"Shut up, Han."

"Hey, you are the one who insisted on learning Jedi pain mumbo jumbo for this, not me. I offered you drugs."

Her low growl became a groan and the droid instructed another push. And another. And then, after much fuss, they placed him on her heaving chest. Trembling, she caressed the fuzz on his head and reached out to him with the Force to calm his fear. He never uttered a cry. Recognizing his mother's Force signature, he peeked at her sleepily with brilliant blue eyes.

Through her tears, she managed a hoarse whisper, "Hello, Anakin."


	3. Week 3: Songs of Jaina Solo

11. **red**

The color of a life beginning

Pools haphazard on metal floors,

Wiped upon a cloth too clean

To be cast aside once more.

In the realm of gravity

The scarlet tracers all arrive,

A web of war and policy

Spread across the skies.

Later, in the shadowed room,

Eyes closed in muted grief and soaring bliss,

Salt taste of her tears lay on his lips -

Parted gently to receive this kiss.

Life is rife with strife and joy

Passions consume, create, and then destroy.

Our lives begun in blood and gore

Seem doomed to crimson hours in pain and war.

12. **grey**

Across the grey and barren plain,

Awash in cheerless rays and rich disdain

Crowned by ghostly wisps that wane

Then coalesce and wax again,

Our thoughts begin to stir, expand

Seeded, nurtured by this nightmare land.

Our sorrowed memories take root,

They grow, they strive, they push.

And once again, remember we

The gentle love of our mothers' touch.

The Nest accepts, and with a gentle hoot

They press closer in protective rush

And the remembered family

Does not sting - overmuch.

Thrusters roar!

A thrum, a battle cry

In our turn, we reply.

Here they come, to take our home.

13. **white  
**

What are you, now?

Prisms take the perfect light

And shatter it in violence;

Find the shards and set them right

Try to reclaim innocence.

It's too late, the damage done;

Chaos only just contained.

Knowing what you've become;

My Brother: Resurrect, Unstained.

Remember the red of the blood you spilled?

Remember the blue of your brother's eyes?

Think on the black grief you willed…

The copper love you denied.

No more doubt, released from love,

Blood, with easy grace, slides from you.

No longer burdened by your fears,

You, diamond stern, are forged anew.

I want my brother back.

14. **black**

The void between the stars my home

Ever doomed am I to roam.

The families I have known

Long since to new ports were blown.

Come soar beside me within the deeps-

The void is cold and cruel and plays for keeps

And I am warm and cruel and taste of sweets

But I will woo you fiercely 'til you sleep.

Who can catch me? Who will try?

Not one can snare me. No, not I.

Chase me through the hidden ways,

Kiss me in the Rishi Maze,

Then to my home I'll flee

Where I wander wild and free.

15. **blue**

Once the herald of hope and renewal,

Blue is now a hallowed hue.

Given time to accept my grief

And overcome my disbelief,

Maybe I can grow beyond this view.

Right now the sorrow is too close

To the Seat of my Heart to depose.

Every glimpse of clear blue skies

Or crystal water cuts like knives.

I seek respite within the shadows.

The deeps of space are dark and dim

The scattered stars but pale gems.

Out here I can think in clean, hard lines.

I outrun the thoughts of happier times

That enfold me in salty hued remembrance.


	4. Week 4: Alema Rar and Zekk?

16.** friends**

The heat has long since fled from the caf before me, sucked dry by the cold filtered air of my new home. No one else is around

at this time in the ship cycle – they are either on patrol or resting or enjoying the company of friends.

_Is self-pity worthy of Dae'sharacor's memory?_ whispers Numa's calm voice. I wince and continue to stare at my reflection in

the cup - so similar, so very different.

"Can I join you?"

Lost in memory, I twitch my lekku in response to Zekk before remembering that he is human and I must speak.

"Sure." 

17. **enemies**

He isn't afraid.

This both amuses and intrigues us. We remember that he is powerful when he is angry, we also remember that he offered us friendship when others were scared to after we were knighted – we have felt his love and his ire.

Somewhere our memories cancel one another out and I can see him with my own eyes.

He looks at me with compassion and determination and I know that he is here to save me or to kill me.

The moment passes and we feel that we will enjoy this challenge. Seducing Zekk will be fun.

18. **lovers**

"Why do you resist me, Zekk? She cares for you like she cares for her hydrospanner. You are useful to her."

I take another step closer and find his height dizzying and his warmth inviting. My lekku explore the front of his tunic insistently, reminding him that I am most certainly _not_ Jaina.

The walls Zekk hides behind are formidable but every fortress must breathe. The air he held comes out in a ragged rush and I allow my eyes to narrow in wicked pleasure.

He resisted for so long that taking him will be a treat like few others. 

19. **family**

I desired a family once. Children who laughed and sparkled with all the grace of my kind.

That changed the moment Numa died in my arms, her face and my heart melting away into terror. Numa was my anchor and,

without her, I am set adrift in the currents that race between the stars.

The pounding of his heart in my ears is soothing, though, and thoughts of children come to me unbidden. We could never have

children, him and I, but the Nest could be our home. We could protect it as fiercely as parents.

The idea is appealing.

20. **strangers **

"Who are you?"

His words echo inside my head and I cannot drown them.

"Who are you?"

I am more than Night Herald, I am more than a slave, more than a Jedi, and more than dancer. I am _more_, except the words don't ring with the truth they once did.

Who am I?

I am less than I ever was before. I am Gorog. No, even less than that, I am Gorog's mouth.

Who is this stranger I've become?

"Go." 

"Come with me."

"Go!" I scream before turning to cover his retreat from the assassins there at my command.


	5. Week 5: Admiral Ackbar

21. **Smell**

Raising his head and consciously swiveling his eyes in all directions, something that clearly disconcerted these humans, he inhaled deeply. He smelled contempt dart away from the young ensign watching him like silver pike fleeing a predator and smiled.

Every ship he boarded in the Empire possessed its own set of scents. Some of industry and determination, some of fierce pride and loyalty – he remembered Daala's smelling of resignation and perfumed shampoo. 

Ackbar was learning to correlate the scents of a ship to the command structure.

The ensign's contempt was suddenly welcome against the background. The _Executor_ stank of fear.

22. **Sound**

The measured footsteps in the hall were the only warning he was given before the door whooshed open and the amused face of Tarkin was looking down on him. It amused Ackbar that Tarkin managed to always look down on who he was talking to, whether a slave or Vader. It amused him more that Tarkin often looked down on the seas and never saw the krakanna lurking in the depths.

"Working late tonight, Ackbar? How _admirable_," he sneered. "You are dismissed."

He left happily. Tarkin thought him a well-trained hound which meant more time to learn his master's secrets.

23. **Touch**

The dry, flat air moved across his mottled flesh and continued on its circuitous route through the conference room. He indulged himself and allowed one eye to track the miniscule ripples left in its wake. These uncomfortable breezes – his human overseers would argue that term – were the closest he came to the currents of his home waters these days.

His skin, a handsomely dappled olive before his capture, now bore the brown overtones of age and abuse. Tarkin often withheld Ackbar's salt baths as a means of keeping him in his place. It suited Tarkin's peculiar aristocratic and 'refined' sadism.

24. **Taste**

How did others survive without this? He pitied his human friends sometimes, mostly when he was floating in the confines of his quarters' pool. A Mon Calamari cruiser! With the comforts he long ago gave up wishing for- air that was not dead but instead could breathe life into his skin even within the far reaches of space where his duty called.

He blew a satisfied gurgle. Sometimes, when Master Skywalker spoke to him of the Force, he remembered what it was like to be part of the Current. This small taste would suffice for now, but he craved more. 

25. **Sight**

Mon Calamari do not cry. It is a physical impossibility. Right now, though, is the first time that Ackbar ever envied humans that ability. The flush in his skin, the fluttering of his gills, it all seems wholly inadequate to express the emotion he is feeling as he steps from the shuttle onto his watery homeworld for the first time since his capture.

The suns setting on the endless waves send him a bloody salute, as if honoring the sacrifices made for these waters, and dip beneath to leave him in silence and perfect solitude.

"Admiral Ackbar?"

He was home.


End file.
